Christmas In Tallinn
One Christmas Eve, I found myself alone in Tallinn, Estonia.
After passing Tallinn’s famed Christmas market, I stopped to watch a street performer create giant bubbles, much to the delight of a group of small children.
At first, I watched with amusement.
Moments later, however, I began to see this experience through new eyes.
I thought about how bubbles are used in memento mori art as an expression of fragility — a reminder that emotions, desires, memories, and even life itself, can vanish at any moment.
The bubbles within this context, the juxtaposition of the medieval city and the laughter of little Russian children, were deeply touching. These tiny tourists were giggling and smiling, just as children have been doing in that square for centuries.
The street performer invited a child to “help” him make bubbles with his long wand. I watched as the delighted little boy attempted to create his own magic orb.
As the child returned to his family, another tot tripped and tipped over the soap pan. The performer didn’t scold the clumsy kid.
As the family continued on their merry way, I watched as the man sighed, packed up his bag, and left the square.
Deep in thought, I walked across the square and into the 13th-century Church of the Holy Spirit. I looked for an open seat among the hundreds of church-goers and found one on the front row, directly in front of the altar.
As we waited for the service to begin, an organist played Bach. I prayed as I listened to the familiar refrains. Emotion built up inside me and I experienced a kind of transcendence.
When the priest began the services, I finally opened my eyes and tears streamed down my face.
While the choir sang “Gloria in Excelsis Deo,” echoing the words of angelic messengers to shepherds that first Christmas Eve, I opened my eyes to see an image of Christ on the cross. I shuddered, physically shuddered in horror to think of what He, being perfectly innocent, endured.
For the next forty-five minutes, I was completely overcome with an indescribable sense of oneness with the world and a feeling of profound gratitude as the events of the life of Jesus Christ appeared in my mind.
Never before had I experienced anything quite like this.
Less than an hour later, I joined a group of other frost-nipped youth in singing Christmas carols in front of Tallinn’s old town center.
While my voice was as untrained and offkey as ever, I sang with newfound fervor. All the while knowing that this moment, this feeling, just like the bubbles, can’t last.